


May I Have Your Last Dance?

by Bare1yThere



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm almost definitely forgetting some tags, Jonny sims im looking at you, M/M, No beta we die like how Martin definitely WONT this season, Takes place a little after MAG167, someone please give Jon a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bare1yThere/pseuds/Bare1yThere
Summary: After walking through desolate landscapes for what feels like days, Jon and Martin find a record player. They decide to take a break.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 90





	May I Have Your Last Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys like this!! This is the first time I've posted a fic before so lmk what you think :D

They had been walking for a long time. Martin had begun to wonder just how long they’d been going without a break or without encountering a domain of one of the fears, but time after the Change bled together like watery paint. He guessed maybe a day or so, but wouldn’t be surprised to learn that it had only been a few hours or that three days had passed. He supposed he could ask Jon, but there was a comfortable silence hanging between them that he didn’t want to break. Well, it was as comfortable as things could get with… everything really. 

Martin glanced at him, watching his face as he scanned the horizon in front of them. The world around them was strangely grey, as if they were viewing it from a monochrome camera, with short, brittle grey grass sprouting desperately out of the dusty earth. The sky was overcast, dark clouds not allowing any colour to pass through. Despite this, Martin couldn’t ignore the brighter circles from behind that fog. What he once might’ve recognized as the sun on a cloudy day was now, he knew, the piercing eyes of the Ceaseless Watcher. 

He shivered, trying to push away the feeling of being observed, and glanced back towards Jon. He was frowning, looking off at, well, nothing really. Nothing except for the ever-present Panopticon interrupted their view; the landscape around them was nearly featureless. Dismally, Martin wondered if they’d gotten trapped in a loop somehow, doomed to walk in place forever. He sighed, his gaze drifting back to the path in front of them. 

Martin was acutely aware of how similar his surroundings were to The Lonely. The year he had spent working for Peter Lukas was still the first thing he thought of whenever he thought about his time at the institute. The cold fog that had enveloped him then had been as comforting as it was isolating, as much as he hated to admit it. Though when he found himself missing the soft touch of The Lonely from time to time (which he hated himself for), Jon was always nearby to remind him of why it was worth it to keep moving. Even when things got tough.

Bitterly, Martin thought back to his time in one of the institute storage rooms, cot pushed up against the wall and corkscrew held firmly in one hand as he tried to sleep despite the presence of Prentiss’ worms. How was it possible that he felt _nostalgic_ for a time where he felt so much fear and discomfort? Well, nothing compared to now, he guessed. He missed when Tim and Sasha would force him to come along with them for lunch. He missed walking to the institute from the bus stop during the winter before the sun had even risen, Jon always some how being there first. He missed when his biggest problem was trying to get over his stupid office crush while Tim and Sasha tried to play matchmaker. He missed… normalcy. The monotonous domesticity of every day life without all the supernatural shit trying to kill him or take him over somehow.

Suddenly, something in the distance broke the tedium of the scenery and the spiraling of his thoughts. Martin frowned, pushing away those memories to focus on what was ahead of them. Unease made his stomach twist. It was just a brown smudge on the horizon at this point, and he had just been worried that they hadn’t actually been going anywhere, but he didn’t like the way the foreign object called to him. It reminded him uncomfortably of the phones that appeared whenever Annabelle tried to talk to him; as if it was meant for him. No, them, maybe? Martin glanced at Jon, trying to see if he had noticed it too, and sure enough a new look of confusion had crossed his face.

“What _is_ that?” Martin asked, acutely aware of the silence he was breaking. The world around them had been so unnaturally quiet for so long that his voice seemed too loud coming from him. Amplified without the need for a microphone.

“I…” Jon’s frown deepened, eyes glowing a brighter, intense green for just a moment before his face lit up. “I think it’s a record player,” He said, a hint of wonder edging into his voice.

Sure enough, as they began to approach the object, Martin was able to make out the wooden, rectangular record player. Its lid was closed, so it was impossible to tell if it had a record inside. There seemed to be no wire attached to it, and there were no records laying nearby. In fact, there was nothing unusual to the ground around it at all. It was as if someone had just left it there for them to find.

Martin let out an uncomfortable laugh. Of course. As if life during the Fearpocalpse wasn’t already weird enough. “What on earth is that doing there?”

“I have no idea.”

“Does it seem… dangerous? In any way?” Martin asked cautiously, glancing at Jon as he knelt down next to it, letting his backpack drop off his shoulders.

“Not directly, I don’t think, but that might just be what it wants us to think.” Jon reached forwards to touch it, hesitating before his hand could brush the wood.

Martin chuckled slightly at the mental image of the record player’s lid snapping open to reveal comically sharp teeth like a mimic. “Jonathan Sims: forever the optimist,” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Well it never hurts to be too careful,” he said, finally resting one hand on the top of the box and flashing Martin a small smile.

Martin returned the smile, sitting down and removing his own backpack. Picking absentmindedly at the short grass, he asked, “Well, now seems as good of a time as any to take a break. What do you think?” 

Jon brushed grit off the lid of the record player, eyes focused on its smooth surface to analyze it for any nefarious intent. “Yes I-I think I could use a bit of a break myself.” That concentrated frown had returned to his face, but there was something else in his eyes that Martin hadn’t noticed when they had been walking. Something was bothering him, he could tell.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Jon seemed to shrink back a little at his question, but it would’ve been unnoticeable if Martin hadn’t grown used to seeing it whenever he tried to talk to Jon about his emotions.

“Yes, well— as fine as I can be.” 

“Jon—“ Martin started, some impatience creeping into his voice.

He sighed, “Yes, yes, alright that wasn’t… emotionally open of me.”

Martin fixed him with a look and Jon threw up his hands defensively.

“I wasn’t looking into your head if that’s what you were thinking,” he said quickly, then sighed again, hands falling into his lap, “I just… I don’t _know,_ okay? I don’t have the right words to say how im feeling. I don’t know how to describe how I feel other than vaguely bad.” He gave a humourless laugh at that. “I’m not the poet here.”

“You could at least try? I know it’s not easy but I think it might help you.” 

Jon didn’t respond, wringing his hands and looking off to the side. Martin sighed.

“Look, we don’t have to try this now if you don’t want to. It just hurts me to see you this way. I want to help you in any way I can but I can’t do that when I don’t know what’s going on.”

Jon shook his head. “No, no, I’m sorry, I want to try. I’m just…” he paused, smiling awkwardly, “I’m not really sure how to start?”

“Would it help if I asked?” 

Jon shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

Martin paused, remembering the concentration on Jon’s face as they had been walking. “What were you thinking about while we were walking?”

“I was thinking about…” Jon bit his lip, digging his nails anxiously into the fabric of his overcoat. Silence fell between them, and for a moment Martin was worried that Jon might not continue. Then, Jon took a deep breath, his grip on his coat tightening. “I was thinking about how much this place reminded me of The Lonely.”

Martin felt his stomach twist. “Go on.”

“Everything was so quiet and… grey. I Knew it couldn’t actually be The Lonely’s domain— I would’ve been able to feel it— but the resemblance was uncanny,” Jon was staring at his hands, and Martin desperately wanted to envelop him in a hug. The only thing that stopped him was the thought that Jon might stop talking if he did. 

“Even though you were right there next to me it… it felt like you were far away. It was terrible. I started to think… if I was having this much trouble somewhere that _reminded_ me of The Lonely, how would we get through The Lonely’s actual domain? I… I don’t want to lose myself in there. I don’t want to lose you, Martin. Not again.”

Jon looked up at him then, voice faltering slightly and eyes watering, and Martin’s heart sank. “Shit, Jon, I didn’t know you were feeling like that.”

Martin moved over next to him, extending one hand. Jon took it in his own and wiped at his eyes with the other. 

“Did you feel it too?” He asked softly. 

Martin nodded. Jon let his head fall onto Martin’s shoulder and Martin rubbed comforting circles into his scarred hand with his thumb. 

“It’s hard not to notice that sort of thing when it was your whole life for almost a year.”

Jon grimaced, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Martin reminded him, “and you saved me from falling into The Lonely forever. Don’t forget that.”

Jon smiled slightly, and Martin kept going. “It still gets to me, sometimes, you know? With everything that’s going on it’s easy to lean back into it. It doesn’t feel good, but it’s familiar and definitely quieter.”

Jon tensed next to him. “Martin—“

“But then I remember I have you,” Martin smiled, “and The Lonely doesn’t seem so comforting anymore.”

Jon relaxed again, and Martin turned to cup his cheek with one hand. “I want to be there for you. No matter what happens, I’m going to be right by your side. We beat The Lonely together before, we can do it again.”

Jon smiled, leaning into his touch and kissing his hand. “I don’t know where I would be without you.”

“Me neither.”

They leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together for a moment before Jon closed the gap and kissed him. Martin still felt that rush of excitement that he had felt the very first time they’d kissed, a feeling which then dissipated into profound love and endearment. Jon’s hand drifted towards the back of Martin’s head, his fingers entangling themselves into his blond curls. If they had all the time in the world and no goal to chase, Martin would wish to stay in this moment forever.

A soft crackling noise from the record player interrupted their embrace. They pulled apart, Martin standing abruptly and stepping back a few paces to create some distance between him and the box and Jon remaining in place but staring at it warily. Inwardly, Martin was prepared to hear Annabelle’s voice come out of it and offer them some sort of twisted deal. Or maybe a message from Elias to brag about their misery. Instead, the crackling dissolved into soft trumpets. Not long after, a voice, distorted by the aging of vinyl rather than by some cruel otherworldly force, began to sing from within.

_Some day, when I'm awfully low_

_When the world is cold_

_I will feel a glow just thinking of you_

_And the way you look tonight_

They exchanged a glance, a few moments passing between them where they did nothing but share bewildered looks, before bursting into a fit of relieved laughter. Of course, of all the things that didn’t make sense in this new world, this one didn’t want to kill them. Martin relaxed into a comfortable sitting position again, tapping his hand on his knee to the music. Jon’s smile was genuine and full of light in a way Martin hadn’t seen since… well, since in the safehouse before The Change, when they sat together on Daisy’s old couch by the fire. 

“Would you look at that.” Jon watched the record player for a short while longer, tapping one foot to the beat. Then, he stood up, brushing dust off his overcoat and walking over to Martin. He extended a hand towards him in what seemed to be an offer to dance, beaming at him. 

“A-Are you kidding?” Martin stuttered, taking his hand and standing despite his own protests, “I don’t know how to dance!”

“Neither do I,” Jon smiled, the affection audible in his voice.

Naturally, Martin’s hand went to rest on Jon’s shoulder and Jon’s drifted towards his waist. They clasped their two remaining hands together and began their best imitation of a waltz. They stumbled, of course, Jon once nearly losing his balance which almost took both of them to the ground. At one point, Martin stepped on Jon’s foot. Jon yelped, and they broke apart momentarily, Martin’s hands flying up to his mouth in guilt.

“Oh god— Jon I’m sorry! Did I hurt you—?”

Jon was balanced on one leg, holding his other foot and wincing slightly. He was still smiling though, fondness leaking into his voice. “No, no it’s fine I’m fine— let’s- let’s keep going.” 

Eventually, they began to get a feel for the rhythm. One song played after the other on the record, melodies of piano and trumpets and saxophones with distorted charm. Their steps synchronized and Martin found himself gazing fondly at Jon’s face instead of at their feet in an attempt to remain upright. Jon was looking right back at him, his piercing green eyes glowing softly in the low light. His was wearing that lopsided smile that was a mix of love and bashfulness that Martin had grown to adore during their time at the institute and even more so at the safehouse. His heart swelled with warmth and affection. There was so much he wanted to say to him, but even with all the paper and time in the world Martin knew that no words would ever be able to fully express what he meant to him.

Martin closed his eyes, treasuring the feeling of the palm Jon’s hand against his and the reassuring weight of his other hand on his waist. If he tried hard enough, in the bliss of this moment Martin could almost forget where they were. He imagined the night sky above them, glittering with familiar constellations and a luminescent moon. He imagined soft grass beneath their shoes, alive and green and cushioning their every step. He imagined a home to return to, and a soft bed to lie in together as the sun rose. 

When the music finally drew to a close, the soft crackle of the record stopping and leaving them to the quiet around them, they broke apart. They looked at each other in silence for a moment before bursting into laughter once again. Martin took Jon’s hand, smiling at him softly.

“That was the most sappy, romantic thing you’ve ever done,” Martin said, laughter edging into his voice.

Jon laughed, “What’s more hopelessly romantic? Dancing or _poetry_?”

Martin scoffed, “If you’re not careful I’ll have to write you a whole sonnet myself.”

They settled down next to each other, backpacks piled together in an attempt to create something to lean against. Martin’s head fell to Jon’s shoulder and Jon fiddled with the fabric of Martin’s coat. As the pressed up next to each other against the chill air, Martin’s thoughts for once did not drift towards Elias or Annabelle or the cruel journey ahead of them. Instead, he found himself relishing the feeling of Jon being right next to him, and wished for infinitely many times like this one.

“You know…” Jon smiled, warmth glowing from every word, “I think I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Is Jon and Martin loving and appreciating each other even more part of Annabelle's plan? Or does she just like watching their romance? Either way, she definitely left the record player there for them.
> 
> Also, the first song that played was The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra! The title comes from the song Under the Mushroom Cloud by Birds in the Airport.
> 
> I'm mainly a visual artist so I'm sorry if this is a bit awkward or OOC at parts. Speaking of, you can find my art on my tumblr (Bare1yArt) or if you want to you can follow my main (Bare1yThere). Thanks for reading!!


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